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el_em_en_oh_pee) wrote2014-01-03 02:32 am
el_em_en_oh_pee) wrote2014-01-03 02:32 am
Entry tags:
I DON'T KNOW WHY I WANNA BE WITH EVERY GIRL I MEET: a girl!direction ficathon
rules:
- leave a comment with a prompt, anonymous or not (ip logging is off) and go forth and fill said prompts.
- fills can be made directly in comments, or posted on your own journal/ao3/etc. (i'd advise against tumblr, just for formatting purposes.)
- please don't post friendslocked fills.
- one prompt per comment; no limit on prompts or fills
- at least one member of one direction in each prompt must identify as female (does not have to be cisgender).
- veronica counts. (cisdude zayn dressing up like veronica doesn't)
- fic can be het, femslash, or gen. or any permutation of the three!
- warn for any comment triggers or hard kinks
rape, abuse (physical/mental/emotional/sexual/child/domestic/self), suicide, drug/alcohol addiction/habit, character death, slurs, non-sexual bodily fluids, injury, underage (defined as any participants under 14 or any age gap of more than ten years when one participant is under 17) - be nice
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They have their slowest night a few weeks later, with only a handful of phone calls, most of them just checking on their already scheduled sitters.
Harry’s in the corner with Louis, Louis’ knees pressed to Harry’s back as she works her fingers through Harry’s hair, ignoring Harry’s protests. “Oh, shush,” she says, reaching round to poke Harry’s cheek with a bobby pin, “you’ll have your braid back before you get home, this is just for, I dunno, fun, remember fun?” Harry opens her mouth to reply but sighs instead, pulling a face and settling back in against Louis’ knees.
Zayn’s sprawled across her bed, the telephone resting near her foot, painting those new white canvas sneakers she begged for. Niall’s half watching her paint, broad streaks of color across one and then tiny raindrops dotted on the other, flecks of paint like freckles spreading across her cheeks, her eyes shifting back to her English essay every few moments. “You gonna get in trouble for that?” Niall asks, blinking up at Zayn and letting her essay fall to the floor.
Zayn shrugs, swirling the colors on the heel of the raindrop shoe to make a sort of rainbow, wild and imperfect. “Can’t contain art,” she says finally, and Niall wonders if she’s quoting something, her grandmother maybe, or a line from one of those black and white movies she always tries to sneak on without anybody noticing, but then she looks up and grins, her eyes sparkling and the paint smudged against her cheekbone, and Niall gives in, smiling back and reaching down to grab her essay again.
And Liam’s sitting against Zayn’s dresser, the mismatched knobs digging into her back, the appointment book open at her feet and her backpack leaning against her knee. She thinks about doing homework, briefly, picturing the chaos of home and knowing she won’t be able to settle there till later, after the little kids go to bed, but she pushes her backpack away instead, shifting away from the knobs and watching her friends. She tries to remember the reasons she had for wanting to start this club, words like responsibility and college applications and leadership floating around in her head before she shakes them away, thinking instead that this is the real reason, that her stupid goofy friends are why.
She sits forward then, twisting her baseball hat and smiling for half a beat before flipping her pencil at Niall and reaching out to nudge Harry’s knee with her foot. “C’mon guys,” she says, “we need to brainstorm a bit more before the meeting’s over.”
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